The Way He Feels
by JustMeeeeee
Summary: Literati, one-shot. Set shortly after the finale, Jess and Rory are finally together. "He doesn't tell her how he feels about her. Not directly, anyway. He only hopes that she can see it, feel it, understand it, without him speaking the words to her."


A/N: Hey y'all! So I've been working on a few different FanFics lately, and the one I'm really pushing myself to finish is A Place to Stay. But whenever I try to work on it, I get distracted. And as a result of my distraction, I wrote this little piece! My goal with this story was to keep Rory and Jess true to their characters on the show, so let me know how I did with that. It's also more introspective than my other pieces, which is something I like about it. As always, let me know what you really think!

X

He doesn't tell her how he feels about her. Not directly, anyway. He only hopes that she can see it, feel it, understand it, without him speaking the words to her.

It's hard for him. His mother was really never one to show affection while he was growing up, and his uncle was equally as undemonstrative. No, the Danes family didn't exactly carry a sentimental gene, and—now that he has met his father—he realizes that Mariano men weren't much better.

He tries, he really does. During those moments, when he can glance up across the kitchen table and see her smiling back. He wishes he could say it—say _anything_. He wants to tell her how beautiful she is, how extraordinary she is, how amazing it feels to finally call her _his_. But the moment he opens his mouth to speak, he feels his throat tighten and fists clench and he just _can't_.

She knows—she _must_ know. He tells himself that she knows. Can't she see it in the way he looks at her? In the way he touches her? In the way he would do anything—_anything —_just to make her happy?

He does his best to show her. His lips brushed against her shoulder. His fingertips gently pushing her hair away from her face as she sleeps. The smile he saves for her, only for her. She _must_ know.

They fought about it once and _only_ once. He found her with a copy of _The Subsect_, reading one passage over and over. When she finally realized that he'd been watching her, she read the words aloud.

_"It was from across a hectic intersection that he first saw her. _Her_. He cannot put a name to her because no name would do her justice. Mesmerizing. Hypnotic, almost. He knew nothing about this girl, yet he found her fascinating. The way she moved, gracefully, harmoniously. And it felt as if time had slowed, and all he could do was watch as her hair danced and flowed in the breeze. His hands longed to touch her, his lips longed to kiss her. It was baffling, the effect this girl, this woman, had on this man. He had never experienced a feeling quite like the rush that raged through his body, through his veins. Better than any drug he had ever taken. And before he can approach her, she is gone. It's for the best, anyhow, he tells himself. She was her and he was him. She could never be as harmonious with his cacophonous being standing too close to her." _

She had looked up from his book, lips in neither a smile nor frown, but eyes wide with curiosity. "Who is she?" she asked. "Were you writing about _me_?"

He'd gotten angry too easily. She'd gotten hurt too easily. He shouted at her, asking why she couldn't just accept what he gave her—wasn't that enough? She screamed back in frustration—why couldn't he open up for her? Insults were thrown, fists were clenched, doors were slammed.  
He ended up in the bedroom, tearing infuriated hands through his hair. She ended up in the bathroom, perched on the toilet lid, face buried in her hands to stifle her sobs.

She caved first, as always. They were both stubborn, but she didn't turn to stone quite as easily as he seemed to. She peeked through the bathroom door, finding him still at the edge of their bed. "I don't want to fight anymore," she squeaked.

He just nodded, finally raising his eyes to meet hers. And there they stood, a room of distance between them, when he finally spoke. Quietly, defeatedly. "Of course I was writing about you. I wrote the damn book _for_ you. Who else would I have written about?"

She was crying again, but a different sort of crying. The tears were silent, and her eyes glowed with a kind of happiness. It caused something deep within his body to turn. Nobody had ever looked at him this way before—as though he were the only man in world, the only man who could ever hurt her (and he did), the only man who could ever make her happy, the only man she could, dare he think it, _love_.

But she loved him. This he knew well. She felt that same earthshattering emotion that he did. And they were both afraid. She was afraid that he would leave her again, break her heart again, and she was afraid that she wouldn't heal this time. (He knows that he could never leave her again—he was in too deep this time.) He was afraid that she would come to her senses, realize that he wasn't good enough for her, would storm off after an argument and never come back. (She would never leave him, though. She spent too many years angry with him and in love with him at the same time. She would never throw away this amazing thing they had together.)

She loved him. And he loved her. The difference was—no matter how scared she was—she was never too scared to tell him how she felt. She was affectionate, and he blames this on her mother and that crazy town of hers. And she was articulate; speaking had never been an issue for her. She would smile and kiss him and would give him those words that he craved—"I love you." She would elaborate, letting him know all the things she loved about him. His smirk, his smile, his eyes, his brain. His taste in movies and music. His hands on her waist. His voice in the mornings, deep and rumbling. The way he kisses her until she can't remember her own name. The rise and fall of his chest beneath her as he sleeps. His laugh, his warmth, his unruly hair. She loved _him_, all of him. And although he found it baffling, he accepted the fact that he would never understand her adoration of him.

But while she spoke constantly of her affection, the words only very rarely escaped his lips. The first time he had vocalized those three powerful words (to _anybody_), he had been nineteen, torn between running and staying. The words slipped out into the cold, dark night, his white breath contrasting against a black sky. "I love you." And then he was scared and he ran. It took him five years to say them again, as the same girl laid in his bed for the first time.

It had been almost a year since that fateful day. She'd been on her way back to Stars Hollow after the campaign trail ended when she decided to make a detour in Philadelphia. She knocked on the door in the early evening, while he'd been at the kitchen table, considering having Chinese food delivered.

She was eerily polite at first. She smiled confidently, asked him how he'd been doing, how the bookstore was going, how Philadelphia was treating him. He hesitated, but he didn't question her motives. He invited her inside, they took a seat at the table, and he answered her questions. Finally, he looked at her with that inquiring gaze, and she finally gave an explanation.

"I've never felt so free, Jess. For the first time in my life, I feel… unconstrained. No school, no job, no permanent home, no boyfriend to hold me down. And at first, I was so scared. But now I realize that this is my one chance—I'll never be this free again."

She didn't need to explain how this sudden liberty had drawn her to his door. He knew what she was telling him. Every time they were pulled together, something stood in their way: Dean, her mother, his flunking out of high school, Yale, Logan. But here she was, for the first time, _free_.

"I love you, Jess. I don't want to miss our chance."

The words flowed from her with such ease. He just kissed her.

She ended up spending the night in his bed, snuggled up to his chest and wearing one of his worn t-shirts. She had suddenly become shy, burying her face into his shoulder as he examined her features. And it was something in the carefree giggle of hers, something in the shine of her eyes, something deep within his chest that told him to never let go, that gave him just one moment of bravery and pure honesty. He kissed the top of her head and released those words as a whisper into her hair. "I love you."

She moved in less than a month later.

He should have been happy. He should have smiled nonstop for weeks. He should have felt a weight lifted from his chest. Instead, he had never felt so apprehensive in his life.

He was independent. He was good at taking care of himself. He'd been relying on only himself for as long as he could remember. Sure, there'd been a few constants in his life—Luke, Rory, his mother (as of recently), even a few relationships here and there. But he never let himself get too attached. In his world, even the constants inevitably came to an end.

He knew she had a similar mindset when it came to dependence on others. She was also independent, self-reliant. Of course, she'd grown up with the love and support of her mother and all of Stars Hollow, but she'd always been cautious. The erratic role her father had played in her life had caused her to guard herself and never become reliant on a man to take care of her.

But now here she was, handing her heart to him with no hesitation. The look in her eyes told him that the idea of _forever_ was not just a fantasy anymore. And as much as he wished he could shield himself like he'd done in the past, he knew that he'd fallen for her, completely and totally.

It had been almost a year since she had come back into his life. Almost a year since he had whispered those three words to her. Almost a year since he had given up being Jess Mariano, accepting that he was now half of _them_, Jess and Rory. And, he hoped, _forever._

Now he sat at their kitchen table, red pen in hand, reading through the first draft of his second novel. It wasn't as melodramatic as his last, but was still true to the dark humor of Jess Mariano. At least in this novel, the main character hadn't been left a hopeless loner, craving some sort of companionship that he'd never receive. This time, he'd given his readers a glimmer of hope. A light at the end of the tunnel.

He hears the turning of the doorknob and looks up to see _her_ (his glimmer of hope) enter their apartment. Her nose and cheeks are slightly pink from the cold and she's got a few snowflakes contrasting against her dark hair. But despite the cold weather and a long day of work, she's smiling.

Without a word, she slides off her coat and tosses her keys onto the counter. Standing behind his chair, she wraps her arms around his neck, kissing his jaw. She leans forward, trying to read the pages from over his shoulder. Quickly, he flips the manuscript shut.

"Jess!" she protests, frustrated.

"You're just going to have to wait until it's published like everybody else."

She drops her head defeatedly. "Fine."

"Fine," he says, a smirk on his face as he turns his head to face her. She places a hand on his jaw as he kisses her, wrapping am arm around her waist to pull her closer.

"You're freezing," he says as she pulls away.

She smiles. "I know, it's snowing! It's beautiful outside." She begins searching the cupboards. "Don't tell me we're out of coffee!"

Leaving his seat at the table, he retrieves the canister from the top shelf of the cupboard. She reaches for it, but he stops her. "I'll get it. You should go change into something warmer."

She nods, kissing him quickly before disappearing into their bedroom. By the time the coffee began brewing, she emerges in one of his long-sleeved t-shirts and pair of pajama pants.

"You know what occurred to me today?" she asks, searching the kitchen for something to eat.

"Hm?"

"That next week is our anniversary."

It's been on his mind for a while now, but he doesn't mention it. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." She shuts the cupboard door, forgetting about her hunt for food. "We've been living together for almost a year. Isn't that crazy?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. Is it?"

"I don't know…" She sighs in thought. "I guess it's just hitting me all over again. That this is _real_. Y'know?"

He wants to tell her that this has been _real_ for him since he was seventeen, but it would be too out-of-character for him. Instead he gives her a half-smile and kisses her.

He pulls her closer by her waist and she buries her fingers in his hair. When she pulls away for a moment to give him that brilliant smile of hers before kissing him again, he feels that surge, deep within his chest, rushing through his veins… He loves this girl.

As if reading his mind, she pulls back. "Hey," she says, pecking him on the lips. "_I love you._" She speaks slowly, enunciating each word, letting him know that she isn't just saying it. She _means _it.

He leans forward, caressing her nose against his. She peers up at him with wide blue eyes. He's going to say it. She deserves to hear those words. As hard as it is for him, he's going to tell her how he feels. Taking a deep breath, he opens his mouth. "I—"

But she stops him with a hand on his cheek. "I know, Jess."

He is wordless. All he can do is tighten the grip he has on her waist. In this intimate embrace, it's hard to think clearly.

"You don't have to say it. I know."

And it that moment, it's as if he feels every emotion all at once. Relief that she understands his inability to express his feelings with words. Acceptance as the broken soul he really is. Fear that this relationship won't last forever. Sadness that she won't hear those words he knows she longs for. Happiness that she is _here_, touching him, kissing him, smiling at him. But above all else, _love._

He doesn't have the chance to speak again. She is already kissing him.

As they lay in bed that night, she cuddles into his side, resting her head on his shoulder. Sighing contentedly, she closes her eyes.

Jess stares at the ceiling, reflecting on everything that had transpired in the past few hours, the past year of being with her, hell, everything since he had first laid eyes on her all those years ago. He thinks about their first kiss, impulsive and secretive. He thinks about their first relationship together, the banter, the smirks, the innocence in her eyes. He thinks about the day he left Stars Hollow and the pain he felt in his chest as he watched her step off that bus, oblivious to the duffle bag he had stowed away under his seat. He thinks about all the times he showed up in her life unannounced, the "I love you," the "Come with me," the "This isn't _you_." Their kiss in the bookstore and the heartbreak that followed. The day she showed up at this doorstep, the determination she had to make this relationship finally _work_. And he thinks about all the moments they have shared since that day. The unbelievable feeling as she moved in with him, the cuddling on the couch, the ridiculing of bad movies, the late night takeout. The fights. The tears. The _fear_. The day she'd been offered a job at the _Inquirer_. The smile on her face when her first article was published. The day she ashamedly told him that she had lost her virginity to Dean and the tears that caught in her throat as she whispered, "It should have been you." The way he pushed the wetness from her cheeks and kissed her forehead, "I didn't deserve it." The pregnancy scare she'd had a few months back. How she sat in the hallway crying as he did his best to console her, despite the feeling that his stomach had suddenly dropped from his body. The way she looked at him with complete and utter fear in her eyes while he tried to hide the fear in his, as she sobbed, "Please don't leave me." The relief they both felt as the test came back negative. The awkwardness in the days that followed, until he finally stopped her and told her, "I'm not going to leave you. Not now. Not ever." Their first trip to Stars Hollow as a couple, avoiding the stares and interrogation of the townspeople. The tenseness in Lorelai's voice as she greeted him. The happiness in Luke's. All the kisses they'd shared in this apartment, in the bookstore, around the city. All the nights they had spent together, holding each other close. All the touches, all the glances, all the smiles.

He looks at her now, warm against his body. As he runs his thumb against her soft cheek, her eyes flutter open. He whispers through the darkness.

"I love you."

X


End file.
